


The Queen's Gambit

by MccoyKat



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Sexual Assault, Author tries to write about a religion she doesn't practice, Charles fucks up, Chess, Chess Metaphors, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Internalized Homophobia, Letters, M/M, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Mutants, Nazis, Oxford, Pen Pals, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt Mention, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MccoyKat/pseuds/MccoyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I understand that I am supposed to be singing my praises about America. I’m not inclined to do so, seeing as most of my life has been in England…"</i><br/>Charles Xavier has to write a letter to someone who may be coming to America after the Second World War. He's not much of a nationalist, though.<br/>It turns out his pen pal, a mysterious man named Max, doesn't much care.</p><p>Alternatively titled Trying To Break The World Record For Longest Chess Game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pawns

**Author's Note:**

> I've screwed around with time lines quite a bit, but it should more or less work out. I'm also very bad with tenses, so if you see any that don't quite make sense, let me know.

Charles Xavier had just returned from his most recent trip to England, this time to conduct an interview with Oxford University as part of his application process, when he was told he must start writing a pen pal.

It’s part of a school project, he is told. It will do wonders for the publicity of his expensive private school if they reach out. It's to help those coming to America after the war.

 _Since writing friendly letters is the only way those with lots of money can help_ , Charles thought somewhat bitterly. He was one of the few boys at his school who had actually lost someone in the war, as most of the fabulously wealthy seemed to avoid the draft. But his best friend from his childhood, David, had been called out to be a stretcher bearer, and then he was gone. He would never return to the part of Sussex that he’d spent 16 years calling home.

Charles has spent about four of his seventeen years in the United States. After his father had died when he was young, his mother, Sharon, had sent him away for most of his childhood. He spent years with several distant relations in England. She claimed it was how she would heal from her husband’s death. He’d returned home when the war had looked like it may affect him. He had then discovered the grieving process required a lot of bottles.

It was during that stay in the Westchester Estate that he’d met Raven. It hadn’t taken much to convince his mother she’d always had a daughter. It wasn’t like she spent lots of attention on the child she did have.

He’d then been flown off to an English boarding school when the war had look like it was coming to an end. It was also conveniently when his mother had gotten remarried. Raven had gotten shipped off to some school in Massachusetts. He applied to Harvard as an attempt to be closer to his sister, and finishes his degree by the age of 16 It was only after the unexplained deaths of Charles’ mother and step-father that Charles considered coming home at all. Charles had then joined a private school close to Westchester, quietly convincing the administration to forget the fact that he already had an undergraduate degree. Cain, his step-brother, Charles and eight year old Raven were then left to sort out a massive fortune.

Cain had been abusive, claiming priority because he was the oldest child. He would bully Raven into all sorts of hideous situations. But Charles only understood when he had raced to Raven's bedroom after a silent cry for help. There he discovered Cain attempting to take off her dress.

Charles had always been a telepath, receiving the thoughts of those around him was as natural as breathing. So when Charles had shouted **STOP** as loud as he could, and **_pushed_** , well, it didn't surprise him when Cain did.

Cain _had_ stopped. He had stopped breathing, and his heart had stopped beating.

Charles and Raven, two terrified children, weren’t sure what to do. While Charles was sixteen and a fair bit older, it was still no easy feat to deal with a dead body.

They’d called 911.

The coroner had said it was a heart attack, which was so strange in someone as young as Cain. So Raven and Charles had ended up with nothing but each other, and a school year to finish.

Charles hadn’t been out of Westchester much since. Raven had a nanny, of course, but it wasn’t fair to treat her as Sharon had. So Charles didn’t leave.

Until he’d had to go to Oxford to conduct an interview, three months later. It had been a busy four day trip, and Charles had returned to have only missed two days of school. But those four days in England had seemed more like home to him than Westchester, or America, for that matter, ever would.

Maybe that was why he started his first letter to his pen pal with

_I understand that I am supposed to be singing my praises about America. I’m not inclined to do so, seeing as most of my life has been in England…_

He’d filled the first letter with the same things most of his classmates did. A description of his family, a description of the school, and his favourite past times.

Well, he mentioned Raven in passing, wrote about his science class, and spent an embarrassing amount of time waxing poetic about chess.

_I haven’t played a good game in ages. No one here seems interested, I suppose. Most like American football though, so if you’re athletic, then you should try it out._

He signed it with his signature, and put the page and a half of scrawling letters into the envelope assigned.

By the time Charles received word back, a month later, Christmas had come and gone. Charles had forgotten about the letter at this point. Yet, his teacher, who was a rather spineless man who was frightened by the wealth his students held had seemed thrilled. Charles was one of only four students whom had gotten a response.

The letter, written by a man a couple years older than Charles, was pages of ungodly cramped printing. His English also wasn’t fluent, but still very well written, albeit formal.. However, since it sure was a lot better than the German that Charles could spit out, he didn’t comment. The letter had just the first name Max scrawled on the bottom.

The letter was a more of a rambling strain of consciousness, really. It reminded Charles very much of reading someone’s mind. He found himself touched that this mysterious Max would hold no qualms about telling him exactly what he was thinking. The first thing the letter mentioned was that Max had no intention of coming to America. It then branched into politics, religion, cooking, tinkering, something that was written in what Charles assumed was Yiddish, as well as, of course, chess.

_...You sound bored. I haven’t played a game of chess since the camp. I had a person to play with there, but they aren’t good memories. I still like the game, even now..._

And Charles had an idea.

It took him a few pages of paper to map out, and there was no telling if Max actually had a board. It would have been so much easier to just touch his mind and show him. Although Charles was powerful for a telepath, there was no way that he’d be able to reach across the ocean and pluck at the mind of a person he’d never met. So it was down to three pages of horrible explaining, and the potential for the world’s longest game of chess.

It took three weeks, but Max accepted in his next letter, and claimed the black pieces.

If Charles hands were shaking as he wrote down his first move, and placed his pawn up on the board, no one was there to see but himself.

*****

It was months before Charles was cheerfully able to refuse Max’s Queen’s Gambit. In that letter, he was able to also provide a new address, in Oxford.

_...I’ve already gotten an undergrad degree, before I went to the school I started to write to you from. I still want to keep learning though. I’ve been offered a chance to study at one of the oldest universities in the world. I’m so happy, Max!_

_Also, I’ve been thinking, how about the loser of the chess game has to find the winner? I’ll pay for the ticket, I’m capable of that, at least. It’s a sure way for us to meet though, after the game is over. Who knows, maybe we can play a game that won’t last years._

_Raven is too excited about moving, I think. But at least this hassle will result in a better school. If I’m closer to you these letters shouldn’t take so terribly long, right?..._

Raven was thrilled when she’d heard the news that they were leaving Westchester in the summer. She was excited to get away from all the bad memories of the house. Charles was thrilled by the acceptance, but afraid to try and take care of Raven full time. She insisted that she’d be fine, but she was only nine years old. She’d desperately and emphatically refused to go to a boarding school. So Charles found a school within the town of Oxford, and they set off in June.

Charles had taken a picture of his chess board, and carried it in his wallet on the plane ride over. The letters had sat the entire journey in his suitcase. The first thing he’d set up in his new apartment was the chess board. He spent about an hour meticulously moving, and then checking the location of the pieces.

When he next received a letter, a few days after the semester started, it also contained a new address. This time it was in the Ukraine rather than Poland. Max insisted that he was fine, moving to the Ukraine had been a good idea. Magda, his girlfriend had an apartment there.

Charles pretended not to bristle at the mention of a girlfriend, and instead offered his congratulations. He also tried his hardest to not look further into his reaction, but rather focus on Max agreeing to a meeting. The loser was to be the one forced to travel.

Raven had teased him mercilessly about his boyfriend, but Charles had told just told her that she had to be quiet about accusations like that. It was strange how he never denied what she was implying. Honestly, it scared him.

Charles became very good at pretending not to notice things. Like the way his stomach had fluttered when Max had sent him handmade chess pieces around Christmas, because  _...I think you give gifts now, yes?..._ He also ignored the way he spent many nights clutching onto one of the pawns, trying to imagine Max working it with his hands. That image always gave way to an image of a faceless Max working something _else_ with his hands. So Charles, for the sake of his sanity, and relationship, tried to do that as rarely as he could.

*****

It took Charles about two years to know that he’d lost. The game wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. Although, it was a more interesting game than the games he’d played now that he was at Oxford. Max played an interesting game. He was fiercely defensive of the pawns, but was almost careless with his other pieces.

_...The pawns are the least powerful pieces, why do you guard them so well?..._

Charles decided the best way to get answers was just to ask directly. Although he wasn’t expecting Max to tell him about his strategy. He did want to continue their conversations. The last several letters had been less than a page long. Charles was afraid that Max would eventually decide the game wasn’t worth the effort, or at least the postage, if nothing else got discussed.

_...It’s important to guard those that others don’t think are powerful. It is simple enough to be protective of soldiers, churches, and castles. Yet, it’s the pawns who make up most of the world. If you give them enough of a push, they can be the most powerful players on the field…_

It was with that letter that Max pushed his pawn to the other edge of the board, earning him a second queen. Charles responded by focusing the attention of a rook towards the new queen. He hoped that the knight it had been guarding wouldn’t be bolded. It was in that moment Charles knew that he’d lost the game. But he wanted to keep playing, to see how long he could stick it out anyway.

It is also with that letter that Max asks Charles what exactly he was studying.

_...Do you know how fascinating genetics are? I’m working with a researcher right now who is looking into the x-gene. Just that one gene has the potential to give people unspeakable powers, Max. It’s not likely to happen to most people. But there have been those recorded to be able to do things like shapeshift, or even telepathy._

_The war was horrible, but the Nazis were able to gather so much data during it. According to the doctor I’m working with anyway. He says that the fact he’s not able to use the Nazi’s data is criminal. I have a hard time looking at is as anything other than torture. God, Max, the things they did. They discovered great things. Plus, there are whisperings about experiments regarding the x-gene. I don’t think the world is ready for that, personally. I also don’t want to owe my research to the torture of innocent people…_

Raven tells him that the letter is too obvious, and shapeshifting and telepathy will clue Max in. She knows that Charles is scared of everyone seeing what he’s begun to call their mutations. Charles is able to hide his much better, of course, but Raven’s requires more effort to hide. She’s recently taken on the appearance of a blonde girl with full cheeks and blue eyes. She had been a brunette with grey eyes in America. It’s a bit different, but Charles doesn’t question it.

Max’s response comes much sooner than normal, and with a carefully worded middle section. That just makes Charles a bit curious.

_...Does the possibility of people with that much power not scare you, Charles? I do not think that many people would trust those with those abilities. If I was locked away for most of my childhood for being Jewish... What would they do to those with an actual, quantifiable difference?_

_The Nazi research should never be used. I was in the camp that research came from, Charles. Please, don’t let their screams be justified as anything apart from torture. I remember there was a boy there, he was supposed to have some ability like what you speak of. They killed his family, right in front of him, to get a response. It didn’t work, obviously, but that sort of torture killed that child. To use what they did to him afterward as scientific research… I met the boy when I was liberated. He was hollow, already dead. He claimed to be after the Nazis who had escaped, but who knows where he is now…_

Charles could have punched himself for forgetting the reason he’d originally written to Max. Obviously the Nazis had done horrible things; but to someone like Charles, it was all theoretical. But to Max…

Oh my god, Charles thought, frantically writing some sort of apology, I’m so stupid.

That was the first night that Charles ever got fantastically drunk. He later remembered trying to write an apology letter, but he wasn’t able find it when he woke up the next morning.

Raven just shrugged, “I haven’t seen any letters, other than the ones overtaking what is supposed to be our kitchen table.”

So Charles went off to his classes. He spent the day trying to figure out the best way to write a response to the letter that he’d received.

Just as Charles was about to send out as dignified of a response as he could, a week and a half later, he was surprised by another letter from Max. Charles was able to feel the joy flicker off of the letter, so Max must have been really happy while writing this. Happiness isn’t something Charles often associates with his friend.

_Charles,_

_This must be the singular best day of my life. Not only did your sister send in a very interesting letter she claims that you wrote while “smashed out of his mind” but also I’ve found out that Madga is expecting a child._

_You are my only friend, honestly, and also my oldest friend. Magda and I don’t have much, but we were wondering if maybe you could come and visit after the baby is born. I know that that is very far out of your way, but if you would be willing. If it is a boy, we would need a kvater or a sandak, if you would be willing. Even if it is a girl, we would love to see you._

_As for your apologies, I know there was no harm done, but it is still, and probably always will be, a hard topic. I know that there is no way to impress upon you the horrors that myself, and many others like me faced, but there is no way for me to forget. I accept your apology, but please be more careful…_

Charles laughed with the good news. Max didn’t hate him, and Max was having a child! It was strange as well, Charles decided, that Max was also his closest friend. Although they’d never come close to meeting.

But that would be changing soon. Charles spent most of that night searching the stores near the university for a kosher bottle of wine before writing a happy response.

*****

Max ended up winning the chess game, as Charles had guessed. It was just after the babies, Piotr and Wanda, were born, and Charles had happily written him for the exact time he was supposed to come and see them. Charles would be the sandak, the person who holds the baby during the circumcision. He was slightly confused, because everything he’d looked up had said that this was an honour, generally given to the grandparents, and he’d never even met Max yet. He was thrilled none the less, even more so, because they’d decided to trust him with such a big influence on their child’s future.

*****

Of course, it took over a year of no response before Charles actually gave up. He kept the chess board in the same position, his own king knocked on it’s side, while Max’s pieces surrounded him. It was fitting, he decided.

Raven slapped a newspaper on his desk about a year and a half after Max stopped writing. The paper was old, but reported on the destruction of the city of Vinnytsia about the time that Charles’s letter would have made it. A mutant had evidently been running rogue in the city, and the people had rebelled against it, only to have the city crash down around them.

It was like a slap in the face. Charles knew that Max must be dead.


	2. Knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years pass, and Charles moves on from the grief of Max's death. But who the hell is that person trying to drag a bloody submarine out of the water? Could it be-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a weird mutation of the First Class canon, and the canon from the comics (my introduction to the X-men). I also feel like I should mention that I was obsessed with First Class about three years ago, but haven't watched it since.

Thirteen years passed, and Charles learned so much more. He learned about the elusive x-gene. He learned about the actual mutations that humans can posses. He learned that if he didn’t allow himself to do anything else, he could accumulate degrees in record time.

He was working on his last thesis, this one for a doctorate in genetics. This was his longest work, and he was proud. He had already accumulated doctorates in biophysics, psychology, and anthropology. He figured this might be the last one for a while. He  _ was _ a genius, but even he can’t run on empty forever.

The fifties passed so quickly. Well, not quickly, but without anything much memorable happening. Charles had spent the better part of ten years getting over the death of Max. He still found his thoughts attracted to his friend almost everyday. It had been rough. There were days that Charles had even contemplated ending his life, to see if maybe he’d meet Max in the new one. But Charles wasn’t suicidal. It was just, after a lifetime of no relationship with anyone except Raven, losing Max had been heart breaking. Charles didn’t know what to do with himself. He had no idea how to grieve. His mother’s death was sad, yes, but he hadn’t really known her, and there had been so much stuff to do. With Max, there was nothing to do, and he knew he had bared his soul in those letters.

As Charles moved on from the grief, he had jumped face first into his work. He spent years researching, locating and studying, and he had enough doctorates now that he was overqualified for almost anything. 

But suddenly he found himself 1962.  Raven was now a full blown woman at twenty-three years old, and she still chose to live with Charles. Charles knew he probably would have died if she wasn’t there. She chose to not go to university, instead finishing school and becoming a barkeep. Nothing Charles could say about the world of academia would change her mind.

“Charles,” she told him one time, when his hands wouldn’t un-cramp from writing, and his eyes refused to refocus, “If this is what it does to a genius like you, imagine what it would do to someone like me.”

She had stripped him and put him in pajamas, pushing him towards his bedroom, but her eyes were kind. He’d wanted to protest, but 45 hours awake isn’t kind to anyone, and the bed was so soft. He’d fallen asleep before his head had even hit the pillow.

There had been many nights like that. Where even Charles knew that he was pushing himself too hard. He didn’t have any friends except Raven, and she was family. He slept around a lot, sure, but he’d never had any relationships. He found ways to flirt with girls who considered themselves to be quite the catch. And they generally were. They were always smart, attractive, and charming. They all found themselves leaving Charles’s apartment before breakfast. But after they'd had a cup of tea. It was the perfect mix of that was fun, you were brilliant, let’s never do it again.

He never figured out  _ why _ none of these girls ever stuck. Well, he never looked too deeply into it. Why he felt that some part of those nights was always missing. Why every dream never included a woman. Why they always included warm, worker’s hands, and metal. He left that well enough alone.

Raven did too, after a while. She used to tease him about Max, but after finding the newspaper, she left him alone to grieve. Charles knew he was a mess. He had thrown himself into his work with little regard to his sister, himself, or anything else. He had hired lawyers and accountants and moved their entire fortune into safe investments. He and his sister just lived off of what they made as a lecturer and bartender. They lived in their apartment, and floated through life, and were happy.

At least that’s what Charles told himself. Raven needed to move around more than their once a year vacations, but she wouldn’t leave Charles. Charles needed to move on from the university, but how could he expect to leave his home. He hadn’t even been able to bring himself to touch the chessboard for any reason other than dusting it.

Oxford felt more like home than Westchester ever did, but he knew something was missing. It was probably the same something that was missing from his dreams. But Max was dead. Hell, Charles had never even met him. Claiming love one the person who was dead and  _ married _ and he’d never even met seemed selfish. And so Charles muddled on.

*****

Charles always tried his hardest to appear vapid. It was a safe way to carry on. He’d actually done it his whole life, at least while it suited him. Of course, around the school everyone knew him. His record of three doctorates in twelve years carried a bit of weight. He’d been studying genetics the entire time, as well. So in his field he was admired, and he used all of the intelligence he had been gifted.

Being seemingly clueless had it’s advantages though. It was more approachable.He was now, after Max, more desperate for some sort of companionship. Even though he knew that he would never had the same connection. 

He knew he was attractive. He had soft hair, and blue, kittenish eyes. He also didn’t miss the thoughts about his lips had appeared in the more than one of the minds around him. It all made it easier to pretend, to those outside of his faculty, that he’d bought his way in. His pen name made his life all the easier too, and Raven noted the tribute to Max, but never commented on it.

The last paper that Michael Alexander Xavier had written had gone over very well. So well in fact, he’d had many letter written to him about teaching positions in schools all over the world.

This was the last thesis, and then he’d be off. He’d take up a teaching spot at Columbia. He couldn’t let Raven wallow in his misery anymore. She needed to be let on her own.

*****

Raven was getting rather caught up in her looks. She was angry at him for something with the girl with the heterochromia mutation. He couldn’t really argue with it, he hadn’t expected the girl to run with the mutant thing so well. He certainly hadn’t expected her to throw it in Raven’s face. If only she knew how special Raven was. Not that Charles would tell her that. It was still too unsafe for her to wander around without at least some measure of disguise.

He decided that she would probably clear her own issues up. He knew exactly what she desperately wanted to hear; that she was beautiful in her own form. That it was the world which was wrong. But he couldn’t do it. It was more or less the truth, but there was no way for him to phrase it that would encourage her to keep her disguise up. So he lied to her. It wouldn't fix anything to tell the truth, and he couldn't bear to lie. He was getting tired.

He kept shrugging it off, but he wasn't sure how deep it was cutting her. He knew what was going on clinically, but she’d need more than one guy in her life to look for approval from. It was just one more reason to move on.

So he ignored it and wrote his thesis. He submitted it and defended it on the same day. He had encouraged a swift review, because he was the leading scholar on it, in his opinion. He knew more about the X-gene than anyone in the world, barring a singular Nazi scientist. So it was obvious that his defense went over well. Those on his panel were so out of their element, that since there were no holes in his research, it was approved. And so he earned his fourth doctorate.

His congratulatory dinner/going away party (that no one knew about) went off perfectly. He was fantastically hammered, and if he was reading it right, a pretty American was eyeing him as well.

*****

The CIA wanted him to come and speak about mutants? His thesis had only been published for a week at most and they were claiming him to be the world’s lead scholar on the subject? He knew more on the subject, sure, other than the Nazi he’d kept reading about. However, the thesis was still so new. The Nazi made more sense to go to for information, honestly. Although maybe the boy he’d experimented on at the concentration camp had caught up with him.

_ Good on the boy _ , Charles thought, Max had known him, so maybe he hadn’t died. It pained him, the thought that the boy that Max had been so protective over was alive, Max had died thinking otherwise.

He was still conflicted. Of course, when wasn’t he. Shaw was a threat, obviously, but was it fair to try and convince the CIA that mutants were real? Was it fair for him to speak out for the whole of his kind? What if they reacted poorly?

The thoughts of Nazi death camps entered his mind time and time again. Shaw was still out there. He would use whatever information he had gleaned from the Nazis about mutants against them. At the same time, would the regular population of the world respond to mutants in the same way? Would Charles be forcing his own kind to a future of imprisonment and torture?

Thinking back to what happened to Max though… Mutants had to be protected and taught. The mutant in Vinnytsia had destroyed an entire city. If someone had worked with him to control his powers. Yes, Charles finally decided, the world must know about mutants.

Charles packed quickly, of course. Moira was looking over his shoulder, so it was hard to explain why bringing a chess board with two sets of pieces was so important. It was a business trip, after all. And an urgent one at that. But she looked like she wouldn’t push him on it. Although she did seem impatient. It was easier to slip Max’s letters into a folder, and slip those in his suitcase beside the chessboard. Charles didn’t even bother to take a picture of it, he knew the final positions so well by now.

Moira asked him to play. It was once they’d landed in the States. She’d just watched Charles place the pieces on the board with utmost care.

“Why are you setting up a finished game?” She asked, watching him carefully.

“I’m hoping that it isn’t quite finished yet,” Charles replied. His eyes were resting on the chess pieces with a small, sad smile was playing on his lips.

“I could start a new game with you, if you’d like.” She offered, reaching towards the fallen king.

“No!” Charles shouted, louder than he’d meant to, “I mean, not with that board. Surely you must have another one lying around. Besides, Agent MacTaggert, I think the jet lag is getting to me, so if you don’t mind.”

He’d quietly excused her out, hoping that she didn’t notice the way that she froze when Charles had pushed. Hopefully she hadn’t realized he’d been in her head at all.

Charles had dragged Raven with him, because her powers would be so much more useful if it called for a demonstration. If the way the other minds within the pentagon felt at the moment, a demonstration would be the only way to get people to listen.

It had always been the most frustrating part of his research. Most people refused to believe the scientific fact that the human species was evolving. There were already classes in more liberal countries like Canada and Sweden that taught the nature of mutations. There were, as far as Charles was able to see, two different species of human, and eventually all there would be were the mutants.

It was a bit of a terrifying fact, of course, and unless he brought it up gently, most humans would be afraid of their species dying out. It wasn’t dying out, but rather evolving. His comparison to neanderthal that he normally used was admittedly poor. But unless someone had a better understanding of science than the average person, then he was stuck with it.

Of course, they didn’t really pay attention to him. They barely had while defending his thesis. He’d thought it was because of they were out of his element. These men at the CIA just didn’t want to listen because they didn’t want to believe that it was possible.

Raven had been brilliant, and Charles had to tamp down his pride. She had shown them, and they’d believed. His mind refused to wander down the path of what could have happened to them had they thought him a spy.

He will allow himself to go to the facility as needed, but not before going after Shaw. Something about it seems like Shaw has done more with his life than just support a nuclear war. It rubs Charles the wrong way. They need to stop him.

*****

The metal is already moving when they arrive. Anchors and chains were ripping at the boat. Charles tries his best to hide the absolute joy and wonder at such a wonderful mutation. He knows that there must be someone extraordinarily powerful around. His mind then returns to Vinnytsia. What if this was the mutant that killed Max?

He was very prepared to let Shaw go when he saw the sub. He might follow Moira back to the facility. But he also might return to his hotel room, grab the chess board, and return home. He’d wipe her mind sometime in the mix, but he really hated to do that. She'd seemed so nice, for  CIA agent.

A figure in the water distracted him from his thoughts. The mutant, the one who was destroying the boat was trying to hold onto the submarine. He was powerful enough to dent the hull, but not enough to stop it from going. Charles realized very quickly that this mutant could die. There was no mutation, as far as Charles was aware, that would help him breathe in the water.

“Let go!” He shouted, his mind already snaking towards the man in the water. His hand reached up to his temple to cue everyone to leave him alone.

Charles reached down into the water with his mind. The mutation was strong, but there was no way that he could move the sub-

Hold on.

Erik. His name was Erik Lehnsherr. He’d obviously never met a telepath before because  his mind was an open book. And it was so sweetly, heartbreaking familiar that Charles found himself leaping in the water to save him.


	3. Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles finally meets his best friend of fifteen years, them promptly screws the whole thing up.  
> Or  
> Charles panics and uses his power when he shouldn't, now Erik is _pissed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit - January 23. I didn't like the last bit of the Epilogue so I changed it.

The water was warm. Miami in August gave it’s own small blessings. If it had been frigid Charles would still jumped in without a second thought. He refused to let this man die on him again. He swam deeper than he thought possible for being so far close to shore. He found his mark though. He curled his arms around Max - no Erik - and tried to fight off of the feeling of _wrongness_.

He should’ve been hugging this man, not unlike this, thirteen years ago. But in much happier circumstances. It resonated through him, how the world had taken away so much happiness from the man he loved.

Charles gripped onto his connection with Erik’s mind. It was the mental equivalent of knocking, not that he expected Erik to know what to do with it. He’d always been told by Raven to do it, as unsure as she was about his abilities.

 _Please,_ Charles started, unsure of where exactly to begin, but unable to stop, _You need to let go. You’ll drown._

The _anger_ that rolled off of Erik was intense. It came off in waves that distracted Charles, even though it wasn’t directed at him. It was a deep anger, one that had spent years growing. Almost a lifetime of hate was all for Shaw.

 _I know what Shaw’s done. Trust me,_ Charles tried again, _we will find him. I promise. He will be brought to justice. But not if you drown._

The man underneath him struggled, and Charles knew that neither of them had much air left. He had one last chance to help before he needs to let go, lest Charles drowned as well. It had only been seconds, but holding a struggling man was taking a lot of energy. It was distracting as well, that there was so much anger and pain to try and work through. Maybe even hope? Of course there was hope and wonderment. Erik had probably spent his entire life believing he was alone.

 _You’re not alone. You never were. I know who you are and I know what Shaw’s done._ Charles felt the last of his air leave his lungs. His head was spinning dangerously as a combination of lightheadedness and Erik’s perspective melding with his own. _Max, please. I can’t lose you again._

If Charles had felt pain rolling off of the mutant before, it was nothing compared to that moment.

 _Mein Gott,_ Erik finally replied, the words were a loud, clumsy attempt at projecting, _Wer bist du?_

There was shock and anger in him still. But he stopped struggling for a moment, finally letting go of the submarine. Charles kicked them to the surface.

“Who are you?” Erik spit out, after they both caught their breath.

Charles panicked. Looking back later in life, this would become one of his biggest regrets. But he didn’t know what to do. Here was Max. The man he’d been in love with for almost fifteen years, and the _pain_ he was sharing with Charles was too much.

Charles just moved into Erik’s head again, with his knowledge again, gently prodding. He pushed all the buttons that would ease anxiety, blur memories, and encourage sleep.

_Is this ok? Please help me for a moment, I’m afraid I’m panicking._

_What are you do-?_

And then Erik was passed out in his arms. Charles was a strong swimmer, so keeping Erik’s head was above water wasn’t an issue. He just hadn’t been able to try and swim with those eyes looking at him.

Charles had never imagined that Max would have eyes that were so dead. Then he remembered what the letter had said about the boy who had been experimented on by the Nazis. _Hollow, already dead._ He’d been talking about himself.

Charles’s spiraling and panicky thought process got interrupted by the approach of a small boat. It took a bit of work to get Erik up and onto the boat, but Charles was very careful, and made sure the men on the boat were too.

*****

No one, except Charles of course, knew exactly how long Erik would be unconscious. Charles just mentioned how sometimes when someone uses their mutation it could be exhausting. Especially to the extent Erik had use them. Everyone else assumed that Erik had passed out from exhaustion. Charles mentioned that he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to really talk to him before he had blacked out.

They quickly checked him over, but he wasn't hurt, and they couldn't hear water in his lungs. They decided to bring Erik from Miami to the facility that Charles and Raven will be held. It was a very long plane ride, with Erik passed out in the seat two rows back.

Charles felt a tremendous amount of guilt every time he reached out and smothered Erik’s consciousness as it attempted to wake. He was careful, of course, but he didn’t want Erik to wake up angry on a metal plane. He also wanted to be the first to talk to him, and he didn’t trust himself to do it in front of anyone, not even Raven.

This was the first time that he was grateful for Raven’s mistrust of Charles’ telepathy. If he’d had a connection with her, it would’ve been impossible to keep up the facade. He knew that he just seemed vaguely concerned. He was just happy with the fact that there was probably no one around who could read that panic he was feeling inside.

They landed as the sun was at it’s peak. Then spent several hours driving to the compound where they were to stay. They even tied blindfolds around the eyes of Charles and Raven for the last part of the drive. As if Charles couldn’t pluck the location out of their heads if he wished. They ended up moving Erik to a bedroom in the facility. Charles wondered exactly what the CIA did with this sprawling mass of a compound.

Charles only left Erik for the time it took to take the tour. They discovered Hank McCoy, another mutant, which cheered Charles considerably. He’d known about other mutants, of course, but in the two days he had been in the United States, he’d met two more. Raven also seemed very interested in this man. Not just because of his mutation though.

They ate a brief dinner, that was full of awkward silences and Raven and Hank staring at each other. Charles was secretly thrilled for his sister. She would finally, he hoped, meet someone else who thought she was beautiful.

Charles requested to return to the hotel to collect his things the next day. He didn’t like the idea of the chess board on its own. He also wanted the letters. Who knew if Erik had kept his. He then slipped off to Erik's room, but not before he gently reminded everyone not go to looking for either men until morning.

*****

Erik was almost awake when Charles returned to the room, having been out for around 20 hours. Charles let him this time. He saw no reason to delay the meeting now that they are safe and private. He wasn’t looking forward to it though. He’d erased the memory of his best friend. He’d used his power on another person in a very serious way for the first time since Cain. It sat wrongly with him. He sat down in a chair in the corner of the room, and resigned himself to waiting.

He watched Erik try and force himself awake of for about ten minutes before his eyes suddenly opened. There was a moment of confusion, where Erik tried to figure out where he was. Charles could almost see the thought process. He first felt the metal in the room, and Charles felt the metal on his person hum. Erik then quickly discovered he wasn’t held down, and got out of the bed, intending towards the door. Then he noticed Charles.

“Wer bist du?” Erik asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Charles heart ached at the repetition of the question. He wanted to scream. Erik had known him for years. He just didn’t know he knew. Charles had no idea how to bring it up. Erik had destroyed a city, then ran into hiding. He’d left behind Magda, Pietro, Wanda and Charles. He knew he had every right to hate the man in front of him.

But he couldn’t. At least not until he understood.

“It’s alright if you find it hard to remember,” Charles finally replied with a heartbreaking smile, “You almost died. You tried to stop the submarine. It was too much. I got to you before you drowned.”

Charles was limiting his access to Erik’s mind. He just let the surface feelings that are leaking out reach him. He could feel the fear of discovery, and the joy at not being dead. Despite the way Erik acted last night, he wasn’t suicidal.

“You saw the submarine,” Erik didn’t phrase it as a question, “so also the boat. And you haven’t killed me? Why? I’m dangerous, but you haven’t even bound me.”

“You’re among friends,” Charles said gently, “Abilities like yours are unusual, but not unheard of. My sister and I are like you, sort of. I’ve spent the better part of my life looking at the mutations of x-gene. Now we’ve found you, and I know we’re not alone.”

Erik looked at him suspiciously. He was still standing halfway between the door and the bed. He clearly wanted to escape, and although Charles could stop him, he wasn’t sure he would.

“What do you mean?” Erik finally asked, “What do you mean like me?”

Charles was a little disappointed that he’d focused on that part of the sentence. He’d hoped that maybe Erik would have connected him with his pen pal of years ago. But still, Charles couldn’t hide the joy in reaching out to his oldest friend. He mentally knocks on the door to Erik’s mind.

_May I come in?_

Charles suddenly found himself in the middle of Erik’s mind. Erik was letting him explore. There was distrust, too. Charles wondered if it’s because Erik had no way of stopping him, so giving in was at least on his own terms. Or maybe there’s some part of Erik that is telling him to trust the man in front of him.

 _Thank you,_ Charles thought, _If there is anything you don’t want me looking at, just picture metal in front of it. I won’t go digging. I promise._

Charles paused, putting his own thoughts were in order.

 _Please do me the same courtesy._ He continued to explain, _I like this way of meeting people best, it’s the most honest._

 _I will not dig,_ Erik thought back, his thoughts were again loud, like he’s trying to make sure Charles hears him.

Charles tried his best to hide everything about Max and the letters from him. He didn’t know why he’s so suddenly so afraid of the man he’s been in love with for so long. He was just not ready.

Erik’s real name was Max. He’d changed it after Magda died, when he’d gone into hiding. When he’d started hunting Shaw for what he’d done to Erik as a child. Charles discovered all of the anger, hurt, pain and grief that has comprised most of Erik’s life so far. The pain of the concentration camp, the anger for revenge on Shaw. He felt the joy of Magda, and the joy of the letters and their chess game. He felt the absolute love for the twins. He then felt the grief ripping at him when the mob of people trample Magda and take away his children. He also felt the cold steel that Erik felt for the last twelve years.

Suddenly there was a recoil from where Erik was in his mind. What had Charles forgotten to guard?

 _You’ve done this before,_ Erik shouted, _You fucked with my mind before._

Suddenly the careful control Charles had was gone. He found himself sitting on the chair, Erik was sitting on the bed. The hate was rolling off of him so strongly that Charles found himself speechless. Everything that was metal in the room was shaking with a barely controlled anger.

He felt as though he was sixteen again. He was so unsure, but he needed to make Erik understand. Only this time he had his mind with him, not just pages of unfeeling letters.

“I’m so sorry Erik. I just, I couldn’t meet you like that,” Charles knew that there was really no way to to explain himself, “I didn’t do much, and I can undo it.”

Charles felt the coins and keys in his pocket shake with anger.

“I was panicking, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to explain myself to you. Not when you were trying to go after Shaw. You would’ve died, or killed me if you’d thought I was lying.”

A screw flew up from the floor, and sharpened to a point as it flew to Charles’ neck. It pressed in, and Charles knew that Erik could kill him.

“What did you do to me?” Erik asked, his voice was low and bitter, “I can kill you. I’ve killed before.”

It wasn’t a threat, but rather a promise. Charles wasn’t sure what to do, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t supposed to meet Erik this way. It was supposed to have been years ago, when the twins were born. He was supposed to have been met at an airport, with Erik holding a sign with his name. They were supposed to spend evenings pouring over the letters together, playing endless games of chess. Charles was supposed to have gotten over his jealousy of Magda. Some things just didn’t work out.

“I’m so sorry, Max,” He muttered, trying not to move his throat too much against the screw.

The nail wavered.

“What did you call me?”

“Max, I meant Erik.” Charles tried to stop himself from panicking. That was what had caused this problem in the first place.

He remembered a letter. Max had described a girl who had spent hours trying to get a wax off of her skin. The nazis had melted it onto her, when they’d wanted information. Eventually Max had become so disgusted, he went and ripped the wax off himself. He’d explained how then they could work on healing it, rather than causing prolonged pain. Then he and Magda had become inseparable. Ripping it off had worked for them then. Maybe it would work for Charles now.

“I - I should probably introduce myself, my name is Charles Xavier.”

The screw dropped to the floor.

“Charles?” Erik seemed bewildered, “But how?”

Despite everything, Charles found himself smiling.

“It’s a long story, my friend.”

**EPILOGUE**

Charles used his knight to take out a rook, and smiled slightly as the metal pieces heated up a bit in his hand.

“Don’t get cocky,” Erik muttered in warning, “Just because you beat me once.”

“Of course, my friend,” Charles replied, not bothering to hide his smile, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

There were several minutes of silence, where nothing but the movement of the pieces made a sound. Charles still revelled in the memory of Erik discovering that he’d kept the chess pieces. It had brought forward so much joy. He felt nothing but pure affection from the other man.

It had been months since Cuba. It had ended strangely. Charles remembered trying to get Erik to stop, to see _reason_. Eventually, a desperate Charles had confessed his love on the beach. He’d loved Erik since he’d used the pawn to get a second queen, and he’d told him so. It was overdramatic, Charles thought, but Erik had stopped. And mutants had saved the world.

Moira had tried to shoot Erik though, and the one of the bullets had ended up in Charles back. It had taken everything to convince Erik not to kill her. He was almost used to not walking, but he was still scared about the future. Erik hadn't said anything about how Charles had confessed his love since that day. For his part, Charles hadn't counted it as the loss of a lover, but the continuation of a friendship. 

For now though, he was still losing chess games.

“What are you going to do, now that Shaw’s dead?” Charles asked, as a way to distract from his shrinking number of pieces.

There were a few moments of silence, neither man looking up from the board. After a while, Charles shrugged it off. Erik didn’t like to answer every question thrown at him. And he’d forbid Charles from going into his mind.

“I need to bury Pietro and Wanda, or find them,” Erik answered finally, his voice cracked and raw, “I never found out - they trampled Magda- but my children?”

Charles looked up to see tears streaking down Erik’s face. Charles heart ached in sympathy. He wheeled himself over to the other side of the chessboard. He held Erik's face in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes, grounding him.

“Sh. We’ll find them, I promise. We were going to make a school, you know? We’ll find them, they’ll live here.” Charles found his plans coming together, and tried to show Erik his vision for the future, desperately projecting into his mind. “There will be other children. Others like us. Erik, I promise, we will never be lonely again.”

Erik surged forward, and his lip met Charles' in fierce affection. Charles couldn't help but notice how Erik's mind rang out with the feeling of love. Charles felt dizzy with it and deepened the kiss. It wasn't until he needed to breathe that they finally broke away. They stared at each other for a few moments, panting lightly. Charles moved his hands down from Erik's face to his neck, gently tracing along the curves of muscle. Erik groaned and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. 

"No," He murmured, "I supposed we wont." 

This time it was Charles who started the kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you go. I challenged myself to write an entire story in three days, and I did. I got the idea for it late on the 23rd, and wrote on the 24th 25th and 26th. All to prove to myself that I could.  
> Thanks to everyone for your kind words, I have no idea if/when I'll be writing again.


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